


Caught Between the Past and Future

by helsinkibaby



Category: The Following
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Het, References to Past Child Abuse, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 06:49:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/859128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helsinkibaby/pseuds/helsinkibaby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four months after the end of the Carroll case, Debra gets a visitor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caught Between the Past and Future

"So, you gonna tell me why you're acting so strange?" 

Debra is looking up at Mike when she asks the question, sees his jaw tighten, sees the muscles there twitching. He doesn't slow his walk but his hand tightens on hers and when his eyes flick over to look at her, what she sees there frightens her. "I don't want to freak you out," he says quietly. "But we're being followed."

Those words make Debra's blood run cold and her fingers tighten around his hand. "Is it-?" she asks and that's as far as she can get before her throat closes in sheer terror. Mike must hear that because he shakes his head quickly, looks down at her and turns to face her, brushes her hair back from her cheek. It's the kind of romantic movement he makes a lot when they're alone together, and that's probably what it's supposed to look like to anyone who's following them, but Debra can see his eyes and they are anything but romantic. 

"I don't recognise him," he says, letting his fingers linger on her skin and it's either a very good cover or a way of reassuring her, or maybe it's both. "I saw him looking at us in the diner, I just thought he was checking you out, not that I blame him for that..." He's trying to relax her, Debra knows, but it's not working, and it won't, not until she knows that this is just some crazy coincidence and Joe Carroll's people aren't coming out of the woodwork. 

Two can play at that game she decides, sliding her free hand up his arm, her palm resting on the back of his neck. "Follow my lead," she murmurs and he grins,  tilting his head like he's going to kiss her and he turns her around so that she can see over his shoulder. 

"Older guy, balding, brown jacket..." he tells her and then she is looking behind him and she sees the man he's talking about. 

For a moment, she can't believe what she's seeing but then her breath catches in her throat as a roaring sound fills her ears. Her knees threaten to buckle underneath her and she clutches at Mike's shoulders and his fingers are digging into her arms as he battles to keep her upright. "Deb." She hears his voice as if from very far away, then again, more frantic. "DEB!" 

It's that panic she hears that brings her back to herself and she squeezes her eyes shut, takes a deep breath and wills herself to stay upright, not to faint. She will not do this, not here, not now; she is a grown woman, an FBI agent and she has worked too damn hard to be all those things to turn into some fainting damsel now. She takes another deep breath, then another, and she's able to straighten up, to look into Mike's eyes and nod, even if his fingers are still pressing bruises into her arms. "I'm ok," she tells him, and repeats it just so he knows. "I'm ok."

Mike looks doubtful but he follows her gaze, turning his head to see the man that she had seen, the one he had described to her, walking slowly towards them. She can feel her legs starting to wobble again because damn it, she's not ready for this, this is not like the last time where she'd had weeks, months of planning, to say nothing of therapy, behind her. This is unexpected, out of the blue and she's not ready. 

She's not ready but he is here and this is really happening. 

She looks around at Mike, sees his eyes darting between her and the man, sees the confusion plain on his face. "Deb," he says again and caught between her past and her future, she can't speak, her throat closed completely by emotion. 

"Hello, Debra."

The voice is the same, even if he looks older and Debra nods, even if she is wary. "Hello, Dad," she says and from the corner of her eye, she can see Mike's head turn to look at her so sharply that she's surprised he doesn't give himself whiplash. 

"Dad?" he parrots, looking between the two of them like he's trying to find a resemblance and she hears how confused he sounds. She can't worry about that now, not when all her energy is focussed on keeping herself standing. 

"Does Mom know you're here?" she asks him, then, perhaps more importantly, "Does Dale?"

Her father swallows hard, nods his head once. "They know. They don't approve." He clears his throat, looks down. "But I wanted to see you, Debra... it's been four months..."

"And before that it was nine years, Dad... and before that, it was fifteen." She shakes her head, unable to process all she's thinking, all she's feeling. "I needed you then."

He takes a step towards her, she takes two back. "Debra..." he says and she turns on her heel, walks away. 

She's dimly aware of voices behind her, of footsteps - Mike's; she'd know them anywhere - hurrying to catch up with her and then he is beside her, matching his strides to hers. "You know," he says as they walk, "We should probably talk."

She shakes her head because her throat has closed again so she can't talk and even if she could, she doesn't know where to begin with him. They reach their building, and she practically sprints up the steps, fumbles with the lock. Mike takes the keys from her trembling hands without a word, takes care of their myriad security systems and she leaves him to it, heads straight for the bedroom and closes the door behind her. Well, slam might actually be more accurate and he doesn't follow her, leaves her to lie down on the bed, stare at the ceiling, thinking. 

Thinking, she decides after a while, is over-rated. 

She sits up, opens the drawer of her bedside cabinet, reaches into the back and pulls out a small, black, velvet bag. She pulls out the necklace inside, lets her fingers trace over the intricate pattern. Closing her eyes, she sighs, grips it tightly before putting it into her pocket, standing up, leaving the bedroom to find Mike. 

He's not in the living room but noises from the kitchen lead her there, and she smiles when she sees him standing at the island, knife in hand, diced vegetables all over the chopping board. "Hey." He smiles at her like there's nothing wrong. "I thought we'd have my mom's chicken casserole for dinner." 

She lifts an eyebrow, walks over and leans against the island, grabs a piece of carrot and pops it into her mouth. She chews slowly, swallows it and says, "We just had brunch." It's one of their favourite Sunday traditions that they are forming - a lazy lie in, brunch at the diner down the street, pancakes with bacon for him, French toast and fruit for her, coffee for both. A glance at the clock tells her she's been brooding in their room for barely an hour; that's not nearly enough time for him to be hungry again. 

"Yeah, well..." Mike shrugs, sweeping the vegetables into a large dish. "Keeping busy, you know?"

She does know, knows all too well. "Can we talk?" she asks him and surprise flashes across his features when he looks at her. 

"OK," he nods, and she takes him by the hand, leads him into the living room, sits down on the couch and pulls him down beside her. She takes a deep breath, opens her mouth to speak, but words fail her and Mike takes the lead, closing both his hands around one of hers. "So, that was your dad," he begins and she nods. 

"I haven't seen him in nearly ten years," she tells him quietly, and she's rounding it off; if she really wanted to, she could tell him exactly how many weeks and months it's been, the days and hours given time. 

"Fifteen before that," he says, repeating her words from the street and she looks down. "You were young."

She nods. "Fourteen," she tells him. "I ran away from home in the middle of the night." Mike's eyes widen and she takes a deep breath, knows the time has come to tell him everything. Reaching into her pocket, she takes out the velvet bag, slides out the necklace and hands it to him. Mike frowns. 

"Your dad had one of these," he says. "I saw it... under his jacket."

"I grew up in a place called Serenity Hills... just outside of Church Falls, Iowa. Small town..." She swallows hard. "That's what my parents would call it."

Mike tilts his head, takes the invitation. "What would you call it?"

"A cult."

The words are met by silence and she can tells she's shocked him. 

"Love... give... purify... devote... honour." She can still parrot the mantra, even after all these years. "We went to school there, grew our own food, everything was all about the town. The leader is a man called Dale Walden." Her stomach turns as she says his name. 

"He's the one who didn't want your dad to see you."

Debra smiles; the downside of living with and loving an FBI agent is that they remember everything, miss nothing. "My mom, she was totally under his spell. Still is, I guess. She wouldn't hear a word said against him. My dad wouldn't hear a word against her." She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath and keeps her eyes closed when she speaks again. "And when I was fourteen... they gave me to him."

There is a terrible, horrible silence. 

She opens her eyes after she counts to ten but when she sees Mike's face, she wishes she'd kept her eyes shut. He looks sick, physically sick and this? This is why she hadn't told him this before now, why she never wanted to have to tell him. Living through this the first time around was a nightmare; reliving it in therapy had been the most difficult thing she'd ever done. Now, however, seeing the reaction to it on Mike's face, is the worst yet. 

"I was so scared," she tells him softly. "I ran... and my mom, she was waiting at the end of the hall... she brought me back. To him." She swallows hard, looks away, because it's too painful to look at his face. She knows Mike, knows he'd go through any amounts of pain rather than see her face a second. "It went on for two months... then one night, after, when he was sleeping... I ran. Wearing a nightgown and that necklace... and when I got to the next town, the police, they recognised the necklace, knew what had happened... I think they broke about a dozen laws to do it but they never called my parents, they contacted my dad's brother, he was outside the cult, and I went to live with them... I never pressed charges; they never asked for me back." Her lips twist in a grimace. "Mexican stand-off."

Mike swallows hard. "You said... you said you saw them. Nine years ago."

"I went back. I wanted to see them. Get closure." She shrugs, shakes her head. "I wanted to tell them I love them... that I forgave them. I wanted them to know that." She shrugs. "My mom was angry... blamed me for them losing their standing. Dad wanted me to come back, wanted to talk to the council on my behalf... but I didn't belong there, I knew that..."

"You forgave them." Mike is incredulous, runs a hand over his face, leaves it over his mouth. "After what they did..."

"They're my parents," she says simply. It's all she can say, all she knows. No matter what they did, they are her parents. She loves them. She misses them, even now. 

He reaches out then, his hand cupping the back of her head. "You are an amazing woman, Debra Parker," he tells her and as always, his words, the look in his eyes when he says them, warms her from the inside out. 

"I've wanted to see them, so many times," she says. "And then today... I wasn't ready. I panicked. It was like I was back there, in the woods..." That's as far as she goes, how she always describes what happened to her. "I froze... I panicked."

Mike puts his arms around her, pulls her into his embrace and she goes willingly, buries her face in his neck. "He knew it was four months," she hears him say and she pulls back, confused. He looks into her eyes, nods, because they both know what happened to her four months ago. "He knew, Deb." She feels her eyes fill with tears and a sob wrenches itself free of her throat. He pulls her back into his embrace, kisses her cheek. "And he told me where he's staying."

She knows what he's not saying, and suddenly the casserole makes perfect sense. 

It's that, more than anything else, that makes the tears fall. 

*

When six thirty rolls around, Debra is pacing the apartment, twisting her hands and waiting for the doorbell to ring. "He won't be late," she tells Mike, because Dale had always placed a high premium on punctuality and keeping anyone late, especially him, was a no-no in Serenity Hills. "He's never late."

Mike stands in front of her, stops her pacing, takes her hands in his. "Like father, like daughter," he teases and she drops her head, feeling her cheeks darken. "Listen, Deb, I already told you...if it's too much, any time you feel you need to, you can go into another room, I can ask him to leave... You just have to say the word. You're the one in control here."

Those are the words she needed to hear and she smiles, her fingers reaching up and playing with the buttons on his shirt. She'd talked him out of wearing a tie, but only just. "You're a good man, Mike Weston," she tells him and he rolls his eyes even as he looks pleased. 

"Yeah, me and Charlie Brown," he says and that's when the doorbell rings and Debra jumps, immediately starts smoothing down her dress, her hair. 

Mike's hands find her shoulders, his eyes locking on hers. "You look fantastic," he says. Then, after a pause, "Ready?"

She's not, but then she doesn't think she ever will be, not really, so she nods, watches him walk to the front door, unlock all the locks, slide back the deadbolt and open the door. 

"Mr Parker," he says, extending his hand. "I'm Mike Weston. It's nice to meet you."

Considering how he'd looked mere hours ago when she'd told him everything, Debra admires his composure. "It's John," her father says,  accepting the handshake. "And I know who you are, son... I saw your face in the newspapers." Mike looks down, clears his throat because neither of them like being reminded of that. Her father doesn't know that though, because he continues, "You saved Debra's life... I don't know how to thank you for that."

Mike is silent and Debra would be teasing him about that if it weren't for the tears that are threatening to choke her. Maybe her father can see that, because he looks over Mike's shoulder, meets her gaze. "Debra," he says and his voice is choked. "You look beautiful."

Suddenly tears are falling freely down Debra's face and her feet are moving, but not away, not towards the bedroom. Her feet are moving towards her father and then her arms are around his neck and it's hard to tell who's sobbing harder. 

She's not sure how long they stay like that but it's long enough for Mike to slip into the kitchen, bring out the casserole dish with his mom's favourite recipe, another with rice and place them on the dinner table. She pulls back, wipes her eyes with the back of her hand, accepting her father's offer of a handkerchief gratefully. Her head reels when she touches it, feels the familiar material, smells the scent of the handmade laundry detergent she was so used to in Serenity Hills. For a moment, just a moment, she is back there, but not in the hallway, not in the bedroom. She's walking in the woods with her dad as a little girl and she's fallen and hurt her knee and he's drying her tears with a handkerchief just like this one. 

For the first time in nearly twenty five years, a memory like that doesn't hurt. 

"Please," she says, glancing over her shoulder to Mike and the dining room. "Come eat with us."

Her father nods and she leads him to the table where Mike is already plating up. He smiles at them, but there's a question in his eyes that she answers with a touch of her hand across his shoulders as she passes him. His smile brightens and he passes a plate to her, prepares another one for her father. 

She's surprised when her father doesn't mention saying grace; maybe he's afraid to push too far, afraid of how she'd react. They eat in silence at first, until her father says, "This is delicious, Debra."

She shakes her head, glances over at Mike. "You can thank Mike," she tells him. "This is all him."

Her father blinks once, and she remembers that in Serenity Hills, it is the women who cook, and only the women. She freezes, wondering will this be an issue, will this derail whatever progress they might be making, but her father just cuts another piece of chicken, says, "So, one more thing to thank you for."

Debra exhales, feeling like they've just dodged a bullet and they eat in silence for another few minutes before Debra can't keep the question back anymore, asks, "How's Mom?"

Her father's chewing slows. After swallowing the mouthful, he concentrates on arranging the next on his fork very carefully. "She's well," he says, just as carefully. 

"Will you tell her that I miss her? That I miss you both?" She can hear the tears in her voice, forces them back. Beside her, Mike puts down his knife and fork, reaches for her hand. 

"I'll tell her." Her father's voice is as gentle as it was when she's hurt her knee as a child in the woods and as she looks at him, she suddenly realises how frail he looks. It's been ten years since he's seen her but he looks to have aged more than that decade. "But Debra... she may not want to hear it."

For "may not", Debra reads "will not," as she suspects she was meant to. Closing her eyes, she voices her deepest fear. "Did she say what happened was God's Judgment on me? Did Dale?" There's a terrible choked sound from Mike, horror given voice, but when she opens her eyes, she sees the truth in her father's eyes and her heart breaks all over again. 

"I had to see you," her father says, choosing not to take on that avenue of conversation. "When I heard what had happened...when Beth contacted us and we knew what could have happened..." He shakes his head, takes a sip of water. "I always dreamed you'd come back, one day. Hoped, maybe."

Debra shakes her head sadly as Mike  squeezes her hand. "I know you won't," her father continues. "I know why. And maybe... no. I don't blame you." He nods, more to himself than her she thinks. "I love your mother, Debra."

Which was the whole crux of the issue, Debra knew. No matter what her father believed or didn't, his love for her mother, his need to keep her happy at all costs, would mean that he'd never admit that what Dale had done to her, what they'd let happen to her, was wrong. 

But Debra's run away from home in the middle of the night at the age of fourteen and she lived to tell the tale. She got through high school and college and FBI training and she survived Joe Carroll and his band of lunatics. 

She's a survivor, and she's ok. She realises that now, maybe for the first time properly in four months. 

"I know that, Dad," she tells him, laying a hand on his arm. "And I love you both... and I forgive you."

He doesn't say anything, looks down at his plate and lets out a long, deep breath. Mike's hand moves up and down her arm, across her back and she look at him and smiles. 

"Do you still draw?" her father asks a few moments later and she shakes her head. 

"Not for a long time," she says and she doesn't mention that it's been twenty five years, that she stopped two months before she left Serenity Hills. 

"That's a shame," her father says, looking over at Mike. "She had an incredible talent." He reaches into his pocket, takes out his wallet and opens it, pulls out a folded sheet of paper. Debra's breath catches in her throat as she recognises it, a small sheet, torn out from a little notebook she used to carry with her all the time. This sketch is of a black and white collie dog, stretched out in the shade underneath a tree. Her father passes the page to Mike and his eyes widen in unmistakable admiration. 

"You drew this?" he asks and she nods. 

"When she was thirteen," her father confirms, and the date on the bottom of the page bears him out. 

"Wow." She feels her cheeks flush with pleasure as Mike passes her the picture. 

"Sammy," she murmurs. "I loved that dog." Looking up at her father, she asks, "You kept this?"

He nods. "It was the only one I could take." Which is more than Debra expected, because she'd known what would have happened to her meagre belongings after she left - what was useful would have been redistributed, what wasn't would have been burned. She's so lost in the picture that she almost misses his next words. "I'd like you to keep it."

Her head snaps up. "Dad..."

"I'm an old man, Debra," he says quietly. "And this may be the only thing I'll ever be able to give you. Please."

She can't speak, so she just nods. "Thank you," she finally manages and from the look in her father's eyes, it's enough. 

They finish the meal, her father asking questions about her life, about her and Mike. They don't mention her mother, or Dale or Serenity Hills and all in all, it's a surprisingly pleasant experience. It's over all too soon though, and her father refuses all offers of dessert and coffee. 

"I have an early start in the morning," is all he says. 

They stand and walk to the front door. Mike snaps a picture of her and her dad  on his phone, and afterwards her father shakes Mike's hand, hugs Debra for a long time. 

Then he is gone. 

Debra takes in a shuddering breath as Mike takes care of the locks, and when he walks up to her, she folds herself into his arms, closes her eyes and holds on tightly. "I couldn't have done that... or the last four months... without you. Thank you," she says into his shoulder and she can feel him smile. He runs his hands up and down her back, kisses the side of her head.  

"Are you ok?" She could have guessed that that would be his question and Debra lifts her head, meets his gaze and smiles. 

"I love you," is her only answer and it's rare enough for her to say that first that he blinks, a huge grin spreading across his face. 

"I love you too," he replies, pulling her back into his arms for another hug. 

They clean the table and kitchen in happy silence, then spend the rest of the evening cuddling on the couch. They have an early night and for once, Debra falls asleep first and for once, she sleeps without nightmares. 

She wakes the next morning to bright sunshine streaming through the blinds, turns to a sleeping Mike and smiles, waits for him to wake. When he does, his reaction is comically amused. "Wait," he mutters, "It's morning?" When she nods, he grins, knowing what it means, props himself up on one elbow to look down at her. "How are you feeling?"

She slides her arm up around his neck, pulls his lips to hers, strangely reminded of words she said in another time and place. She says them again now as she kisses him and if he doesn't entirely understand, he doesn't ask any questions, especially not when she pulls him down on top of her and makes her intentions clear.

 "Truly golden," she tells him and for the first time in years, it is true. 


End file.
